


Hope and Memory

by RedJuliet



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Hunk (Voltron), Altean Lance (Voltron), Anastasia AU, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hunk is Vlad, Insecure Keith, Keith is Anya, Klance Big Bang 2017, Lance can manipulate quintessence, Lance is Dimitri, M/M, Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Minor Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, POV Keith (Voltron), POV Lance (Voltron), Part-human Keith, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Self-Esteem Issues, Thief Pidge, amnesiac Keith, druid magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-01 10:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12703215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedJuliet/pseuds/RedJuliet
Summary: Keith doesn’t remember his past. His only connection to his missing memories is a strange pendant and a mysterious blade. His quest to recover his past takes a sudden turn when he winds up among the company of three unlikely companions that believe Keith is the long-lost Galra prince: Lance, an infamous con artist; Hunk, an ex-prisoner of the Galra; and Pidge a clever thief with a sharp tongue and even sharper mind. However, Zarkon wants the last of the royal family dead, and unleashes a powerful and dark force. Relentlessly hunted, they travel far and face dangerous obstacles to reunite Keith with the only surviving member of his family.  What began as a simple con for the money quickly becomes a battle for their lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally time to post this! I have been working on this project for months. This is an AU based on the movie Anastasia. I had a great deal of fun collaborating with my amazing artist, who was endlessly patient with me.

Grey Ridge orphanage was a large building perched neatly above the capital city of Daibazaal. It had five floors, thirteen mismatched windows, and housed thirty-nine children. It tilted slightly to the right and had the unfortunate appearance of being abandoned. Unsurprisingly, the dilapidated house, with its weathered siding and boarded-up windows, gained the reputation of being haunted and was therefore steadfastly ignored by most of the Galra in the city.

It was not, in fact, haunted. At least not to Keith’s knowledge, and he had lived here for ten years. Grey Ridge never felt like home, but after so many years it had certainly become familiar. He knew which floorboards creaked, when to expect the old pipes to start banging in the walls, and the least broken-down chair to steal in the common room.

There was a certain comfort in familiarity, which was why, even on his last day, he found himself in the kitchen washing dishes just before sunrise like it was any other morning. The simple task did little to keep his thoughts from wandering, but at least the repetitive nature of the chore happened to be a convenient excuse not to look up as his caretaker entered the kitchen, her heavy cane purposefully loud against the floor.

“Have you packed your bags yet, boy?” Ulegga, the caretaker for as long as anyone could remember, leaned upon her cane as she loomed behind him. As a full-blooded Galra she was large, broad-chested, and emanated strength even though she walked with a slight limp. She almost always carried a wooden cane, which she liked to bang against the floors and walls to intimidate unruly children or announce her presence. She disliked troublemakers and had no tolerance for daydreamers, and she considered Keith both.

“Yeah,” Keith addressed the plate that he had already dried. “I packed last night.”

It hadn’t taken long to gather his belongings, what little he had. Having never been to the city, it wasn’t as if he had accumulated much, even in ten years. 

“Good,” Ulegga said. “It’s enough work as it is, cleaning up after all of you. Any belongings you leave behind find their way to the trash, understand?”

Keith set down the dish he had been drying and turned to look her in the eyes. She was taller than him, as most full-blooded Galra were. 

“It’s not like I had much anyway.” As far as he could remember, his only treasure and one of his few possessions was his pendant. It had been with him as long as he could remember. Out of instinct, his hand went to touch the back of his neck where the small chain rested beneath the fringe of his hair.

Ulegga’s eyes followed the movement. “Ah yes, your little _trinket_ ,” she put a certain emphasis on the word as she played with a gold ring on her own finger. “What does it say again?”

Keith hesitated before he answered. “Together in Altea.”

Those three words had been engraved as deeply into him as they had on the necklace itself, and yet he couldn’t figure out why Altea would be the clue to his past. He had always considered himself to be Galra, even though aside from his ears and uneven violet markings across his body, most of his physical features were human. 

“That’s right,” Ulegga hummed. “Your parents were probably sympathizers. Our former emperor was a fool, and his fascination over Altean magic led to his untimely death. Alchemy and such arcane arts simply can’t be trusted.”

Keith clenched his jaw but said nothing. He dropped his gaze to the floor and leaned against the counter, but Ulegga didn’t leave. After a tense silence, she spoke again. 

“But I came here for a reason,” Ulegga let her hands fall back to her sides and sighed, drawing out the words as if purposefully dragging out the suspense. “There is something else, something of yours. Take it off my hands before you leave.”

Keith faltered. “I don’t… have anything else?” 

“Yes, yes. Just follow me,” Ulegga moved past him to the common room without explanation. He had never once received a gift from her, and he doubted she would suddenly become sentimental on his last day here.

“Are you coming or are you just going to stand there?” She snapped and Keith reluctantly followed her. 

The common room was darker than the kitchen as some of the windows had been boarded up instead of being repaired, and the best light came from the gas lights around the room and a feebly crackling fire in the fireplace. The sun wouldn’t rise for another hour, and the normally bustling room was silent and cold.

Keith looked over at Ulegga as she grabbed a box from the table and tossed it to him. He instinctively reached out to catch it before it fell. The package was heavier than he expected and wrapped in simple paper. A name was written on the front in rigid, straight letters.

His name.

“This was left with you ten years ago,” Ulegga waved towards the package. “Seemed the right time to give it to you.”

Keith stared at the package before he carefully turned it over in his hands. The first and only piece of mail he ever received, at least that he could remember. Someone knew his name, maybe they also knew his past.

He ran a thumb excitedly across the edges and realized that the paper had been torn across the back. He turned to look at it and realized someone had cleanly sliced the paper open and neglected to reseal it.

“Did… did you open my package?” Keith glared at Ulegga as he tightened his fingers around the box. “This was mine—it was addressed to me!” 

Ulegga, seemingly remorseless, lowered herself into the best chair in the common room. “Anything that passes under my roof is mine to inspect. As long as you were in my custody, these rules were absolute. Besides,” she settled into the chair and it creaked beneath her. “You were too young for something like that.”

Keith ripped the rest of the paper off of the package with more force than necessary. It seemed a flimsy excuse to him, even though he had never been granted much privacy in the house, especially with thirty-nine wards. 

He wasn’t sure what he expected to find inside, but a weapon had never crossed his mind. Inside was a small blade wrapped in white fabric, plain except for a symbol engraved on the hilt. He unsheathed it and waited for anything to come back to him—memories, feelings, emotions—but he felt nothing as he raised the blade up and inspected it in the dim light.

“It’s a blade,” he muttered. Why would someone leave him a weapon? “Wasn’t there a note or anything? Who left it for me?” He turned the package upside down in a last-ditch effort to recover a mysterious letter or scrap of paper but nothing else fell out of the package.

Ulegga made a contemplative noise as she picked at her fingernails. “Who knows? If there was, I didn’t see it. Some human left it with you—kept his face mostly covered but he had a scar.”

“Human?” Keith lowered the knife. “Did he say anything to you, anything about the blade?” 

“Ah, perhaps. It was years ago.”

“Was he from the city?” Keith rattled off the questions as quickly as they came to mind. Why was the man human instead of Galra? He stood in front of her chair, heart hammering in his chest. 

“Enough!” Ulegga threw herself up from the chair and Keith took a step back. Her cane clattered to the floor beside them with a loud crash. “This isn’t an interrogation. It was years ago, far too long to remember anything useful. Besides, this man never gave a name. Even if he is still in the city, you’ll never find him.”

“I might! It was only ten years ago, he might know something about my past or my lost memories. I know you said it was dark magic—”

“Yes!” Ulegga raised her voice, cane forgotten on the ground beside her chair. “Forces I refuse to meddle in. It was Altean magic that caused you to lose those memories, child. I can guarantee that.”

She raised her chin, suddenly more of a soldier than a crippled caretaker. “Now you listen to me, and you listen good… I will not involve myself in dangerous matters. Learn to discard your daydreams for reality, because it’s reality you’ll be facing outside that door. If you stare too long over your shoulder you’ll stray from the path in front of you. Besides, there’s no point in looking for old answers—you’ll only be disappointed in what you find. Now leave, before you bring any trouble to my doorstep.”

For a moment, Keith debated pursuing the subject. There must have been something—any information he could use. But he saw no room for argument in her sharp, yellow eyes. 

He turned and snatched the wrapping paper and folded it, careful to preserve his name, before he bolted from the common room.

Altean magic.

Keith’s fingers brushed over his pendant as the words started to sink in. Could magic really have caused him to lose his memories? He wasn’t sure what he could have done to deserve something like that, especially as an eight-year-old kid.

Maybe… maybe Ulegga was right.

He shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind and placed his blade and the paper inside of his bag by the front door. Once the adrenaline had died down and reality crept back into focus, he glanced around the hallway one more time.

Along the wall were rows of hooks below simple name tags. Cloaks, coats, and bags in all sizes were hung from the hooks, and Keith grabbed his own cloak from the back. He hesitated as he stared at his name taped above it in a child’s handwriting.

“How do I know where my path forward goes when I don’t even remember where I’ve been?” He reached over and ran his fingers over the paper. It felt like so long ago he placed it up there, and yet he couldn’t remember exactly when it had been that he started to grow up. He pulled off the tape, no longer needing a stool to reach, and stuck the memento inside his bag.

Upstairs, Ulegga’s cane banged against the door to the sleeping quarters. The harsh sound echoed through the house and disrupted the fleeting peace of the early morning. Soon, everyone would begrudgingly start their daily chores like every other day.

He didn’t know what lay beyond Grey Ridge. He had no plans, no money, and no direction. His fingers curled around the doorknob and he hesitated. But this was not his home, he reminded himself. Ulegga was not his family.

Keith opened the door and headed outside without looking back.

***

The city was a daunting mixture of looming towers, cramped houses in tight rows, and every kind of shop imaginable. Keith had seen it in the distance, glowing at night like a pocket of stars, but in person it was enormous. 

He passed a tavern and sidestepped a drunken patron that stumbled out the door. Keith wrinkled his nose at the unmistakable stench of liquor. The guy smelled nearly as bad as the streets, and Keith hurried past him.

“Um, excuse me.” Keith approached a Galra merchant near a market stand. “I’m new to the city and I need to make some money.” His eyes drifted to the display of colorful, exotic fruits the merchant was setting up and his stomach growled. 

The guy eyed him warily. “I don’t have anything for handouts, kid. Try another corner, I’m busy.”

“I’m not looking for handouts,” Keith argued. “I’m just looking for a job in the city. I can lift crates, handle merchandise, whatever needs to be done around here.”

The merchant paused and looked him up and down. Keith had the distinct impression he was being judged and tensed under his stare.

“You think I haven’t heard that before? Besides, you’re a bit scrawny for the work,” he grunted and returned to stocking the stand.

“I’m not scrawny—” Keith glared at the man. “I’m used to heavy lifting. I used to handle unpacking the shipments brought to the orphanage.” 

“What, that old shack up on the ridge? That place still running?” The vendor snorted. “I don’t need help, kid. Not from a street urchin like you. I don’t want to scare off any customers, got it? Now scram.” He waved his hand dismissively.

Frustrated, Keith pushed off of the merchant’s stall and headed down the street. He paused and looked down at himself. Beneath his cloak, his shirt was baggy and threadbare. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to flatten the wayward strands around his ears without any luck.

“Street urchin,” Keith grumbled. He had never taken much stock in his appearance but he supposed he did look a little out of place. Still, there had to be someone in a city this size that needed an extra set of hands.

He ran his hands over his face and groaned. “Maybe at the station…” Someone bumped into him and he mumbled an apology out of habit.

“Wow, you look like you’re having a really bad day.” 

Keith raised his head to look at whoever had addressed him and saw a kid in a plain, brown cloak. Or maybe not a kid, he realized, as they pulled the hood down.

“Um,” Keith stared for a moment, unsure what to say. The sandy-haired girl was human, and probably only a few years younger than him with soft, inquisitive eyes beneath oversized glasses.

“I was just going to take off while you were absorbed in your own thoughts, but you look like you need this more than me,” she held up a bag and Keith realized, with a jolt, it was his.

“Give it back!” He reached out to snatch it and glowered at her. “There’s not even anything worth selling in there.” The blade might be worth something but the rest was useless to a pickpocket.

“Here’s a tip,” the thief looked up at him, “Keep your stuff close to you when you wander the city. Lots of thieves look for people like you.”

“Thieves,” Keith deadpanned. “Like you?”

She shrugged. “We make a living however we can out here. It’s not easy anymore.” The thief paused and regarded Keith curiously. “Looking for work?”

“I’m not going to start stealing, if that’s what you mean,” Keith brought his bag closer to his chest and wrapped his hand around the blade to make sure it was still inside.

“Oh,” Pidge sighed. “You’re the honest type.” 

“ _No_ , I just don’t want to get arrested before I can buy a travel ticket.”

“You’re from the orphanage, right? I heard you talking to that merchant earlier. I wasn’t going to suggest stealing… thievery requires a certain delicacy, anyway.” Keith gave her a look, but she ignored it. “I’m Pidge, by the way.” 

“…Keith,” he lowered the bag back to his side. “Did you just feel sorry for me or did you actually have some information I can use?”

“Wow, straight to the point. But you know, information isn’t cheap.” Pidge leaned back on her heels and looked up at him with a smile that made him uneasy.

“I already told you,” Keith said. “I don’t have anything valuable!” 

“I’m not looking for money, not from you. Connections can be incalculably more valuable than monetary goods anyway.”

“Says the thief,” Keith muttered. “What would you get out of making a connection with me? I have nothing and I’ve never even seen the city before.”

“I have my reasons. Besides, if you need a travel ticket there’s someone in town you should meet,” Pidge nodded towards the street and without waiting for a confirmation, began to walk away.

“I didn’t agree to anything yet,” Keith protested. She kept walking as if she hadn’t heard him, weaving through the crowd with ease.

He was getting a bad feeling about this. Trust a thief or keep hounding every merchant in town? He debated his options for a minute, until Pidge vanished in a sea of cloaks and skirts.

Keith cursed and darted forward, having much more trouble making his way through the crowd than she had. When he finally caught up, he could have sworn he saw Pidge smirk.

“How did you manage to steal my bag without me noticing, anyway?” Keith had to actively work to keep up with Pidge, ducking around stalls and squeezing past slow pedestrians.

“A thief can’t give away all of their secrets,” Pidge sighed.

Come to think of it, Ulegga had always complained about the high crime in the city, but Keith had just assumed criminals would appear bigger and more intimidating.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Keith glanced over at Pidge and wondered how someone so young wound up as a pickpocket.

Pidge paused to make sure no one was listening. “The old royal palace. There’s someone there that helps people down on their luck.”

“That sounds shady,” Keith frowned.

Pidge snorted. “Do you want to get enough money for a train ticket, or not?”

“I do,” Keith hesitated. “I mean, I just want to find my family. If there’s even a family left for me.” 

Pidge’s expression softened. “Okay. Then we’re going to have to break a few laws. Nothing too serious.”

“Wait, what kind of laws?”

“You’ll be fine. Just keep up and follow me so no one sees you.” No sooner were the words out of Pidge’s mouth than she darted down the street with the grace of an alley cat and disappeared. 

In an attempt to keep up, Keith bumped into more than a dozen pedestrians, throwing apologies over his shoulder. The city passed in a blur as he dodged carriages and busy market stands. 

Why was everyone frustratingly obscure today?

He squeezed through a ridiculously narrow alley and stumbled out into a large street beyond. In front of him was a stone courtyard flanked on all sides by the largest building he had ever seen. 

“The old palace,” Keith muttered in awe. 

It easily dwarfed the orphanage, a combination of towering spires, intricate latticework, and decorative lead glass windows. It was magnificent despite the obvious and unfortunate neglect that befalls all abandoned buildings. Nature had clearly tried to take back the land—curtains of vines and overgrown weeds covered the facade in a thick, green blanket. Panes of glass were shattered, and statues crumbled in the garden. 

Parts of the destruction appeared intentional, as if some great disaster had befallen the building. Portions of the roof had caved in and a jagged, gaping hole allowed the outside to creep back in. 

An overwhelming sensation of deja vu swept over him like a crashing wave and he staggered back. He nearly lost his balance in the sudden onslaught, the strongest he had felt in years. He gripped the iron gate until his knuckles turned white, vaguely nauseous as his head pounded. 

It was wrong—this was _wrong_. The once perfectly manicured grounds had withered, covered beneath waist-high grass, weeds, and crumbling statuaries. Crows cawed from the old stone fountain, the stagnant water acrid and brown. 

Keith sank to his knees and tried to breathe as he waited for the world to right itself again, for the images and smells that assaulted his senses to leave him alone again. 

“Why...why now? What is it about this place?” He pressed his palms hard against his forehead and slowly opened his eyes again. As quickly as the feeling came on, it had passed. He curled his hand into a fist and slammed it against the ground, the dull throb of pain nothing compared to the ache of frustration.

As the passing carriages clattered on the street beyond and the mumbling din of distant conversation brought him back to the present, he remembered Pidge. Panic seized him and he raised his head in the desperate hope she was still around, but she had vanished like the last traces of his memories.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, please check out this AMAZING artwork by [glyphhunter](https://glyphhunter.tumblr.com/post/167438203539/hope-and-memory-by-redjuliet-this-is-my-first)

Keith realized at once that he had already broken Pidge’s rule to stay close. At some point, she had disappeared inside, but he couldn’t see any clear point of entry into the palace. Despite the clear damage to the building itself, the wrought-iron fence seemed pretty sturdy to him. 

He scanned the perimeter to look for any weaknesses, but there were no obvious gaping holes or broken iron pickets that he could see. A woman walking nearby gave him a strange look as he stared at the fence, and he ducked his head as she moved past. 

He walked around the palace slowly, attempting to look like a curious onlooker and not a potential criminal about to break and enter. He stopped at the end of the street as he saw an officer standing beside an abandoned stack of crates. He must have looked somewhat suspicious because she started walking towards him as soon as she caught his eye. 

“Something I can help you with?” She asked him. 

“Just looking around the city,” Keith said. Travelers came to the city all the time, but he must not look like the typical sightseer. He wondered if she bought his lie. She studied him for a moment in silence, expression blank. Keith didn’t flinch under her gaze, but he hoped he didn’t seem as guilty as he felt. 

“Area’s off limits,” she said finally. She gestured towards the palace and Keith nodded stiffly in assent. 

The less he said, the less likely he was to get caught in a lie. But she must have decided he was either too much trouble to deal with, or she believed him because she moved past him on her patrol. And yet, he could still feel her eyes on him even without looking over his shoulder. He pretended not to notice and continued down the street. 

Keith turned the corner as casually as possible and ducked behind a stone post. If he was going to find a way inside, he’d have to find a way past her and anyone else on the street. Of course, the easiest way to do that would be with a distraction.

“Okay, think,” Keith mumbled. He looked around for anything that might work, anything at all. 

He searched for loose pickets and scuffed the ground with his boot for stones. Aside from a piece of twisted metal, he didn’t see anything. Maybe if he waited long enough, Pidge might come back. But then again, she might not. He ran his hands over the post, fingers pulling on the stones to look for any that might have loosened. 

One moved slightly, and he wiggled it back and forth, straining to pull it loose. He scraped his knuckles and fingers against the post, ignoring the dull pain and grunting in frustration as he tried to claw the piece of rock free. Frustrated, he snatched the piece of metal from the ground and worked it behind the stone, pulling his weight against it. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” he grunted. Finally, it came loose enough he could pull it out with his hands. It was a sizable piece of rock, definitely large enough to create a quick distraction. He surveyed his surroundings. Across the road was a parked carriage, hooked to a black horse that was casually sniffing the ground. The driver was gone, likely just around the corner in one of the nearby buildings. Behind the carriage was a small house, abandoned just as the palace had been.

Keith took a deep breath, pulled his arm back, and then he let the rock soar through the air towards the windows. It sailed across the street, and for one horrified moment he thought it wouldn’t make it. But a second later, it collided with the window and the glass shattered.

Several things happened in quick succession. The horse, spooked by the sudden noise, made a startled cry and bolted forward. Still tied to a post, it panicked and bucked in place, causing the carriage to tip over with a deafening crash. In all the chaos, the driver of the carriage bolted outside and started yelling which only served to cause the poor horse more stress. The officer ran over to check out the commotion, followed by a small group of curious onlookers who crowded around the scene. 

It hadn’t quite happened like Keith expected, but he took the opportunity and ran with it—literally. He grabbed the fence and pulled himself upwards, scrambling to climb up and over the top without any decent footholds. Scaling a fence was harder than he anticipated, and he nearly fell over the top. His cloak caught on a bent picket as he jumped and it pulled taut against his neck where it was clasped. 

Panicked, Keith clawed at it until it ripped free and he plummeted to the ground. Coughing and dizzy, he scrambled to his feet and yanked the cloak free. It ripped in the process, but he didn’t have time to worry about the loss. 

His heart hammered in his chest and he didn’t dare look over. He hoped no one noticed him in the fall because now he was in clear view of anyone that glanced in his direction. So he ran for the nearest door he saw, jumping over broken statuaries and ploughing through waist-high weeds. 

Behind him, he could still hear the driver shouting profanities and the officer trying to calm him down. Keith’s heart pounded in his ears and he gripped his cloak so tightly his hand started to go numb. He nearly collided with the door as he reached it; the momentary relief washed away with the sinking realization that it was haphazardly sealed, old planks nailed crookedly to the frame. 

Keith felt eyes on him now, he could feel the heavy weight of their gaze.

“Hope this isn’t as strong as it looks,” he muttered. He ran his fingers along the boards nailed to the large doorway. The wood sank underneath the pressure of his fingertips, weakened with exposure to the elements. He curled his fingers around the plank and yanked backwards. It splintered under the pressure and ripped from the doorframe before clattering to the ground beside him. He tensed, the noise too loud to his ears. 

The second plank cam free with a crack that resounded in the dead courtyard. The door was visible now, crookedly propped up on broken hinges as if it had been broken down and never repaired. Beyond the entrance, it was pitch black. The door protested with a shrill creak and resisted him until he slammed into it and stumbled into the darkness. 

The first thing he noticed was a smell so strong it was almost suffocating. The air was stale and reeked of dust and mildew. A cloud of dust danced aggressively around him and he coughed again, stepping past a gouge in the floor from the busted door. Keith rubbed his nose to prevent the sneeze he felt coming on and made his way inside. 

“Pidge?” His voice echoed in the empty space. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he looked around. Expensive wood panels had been pried from the walls, light spots on the wall indications of missing or stolen paintings. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, dusty crystals too high for tempted hands to reach. 

“Anyone here?” He stepped over a gaping hole in the floor, wooden planks splintered and broken. A large, open room just beyond the hallway let in muted rays of sunlight from elegant floor-to-ceiling windows. In the center was a pile of debris, including pieces of the collapsed ceiling. 

“Wonder what happened here?” Keith nudged a piece of roofing tile with his boot.

The palace had only been abandoned for a decade; the extent of the damage was too extreme for such a short time. Most of the destruction appeared to be caused by some great force or natural disaster, but nothing had ever been mentioned at the orphanage and he had never found any information in the study. 

The room appeared to be a ballroom, at one time probably filled with laughter and music, windows and mirrors reflecting the light off crystal chandeliers. Outside, Keith could see the withered garden he had run through. No one had followed him. 

He raised a hand and placed it upon the dirty glass as the faint sound of music started to play. No, not music. Just...a memory of music. His head started to ache, faintly at first. He could smell perfume and candles, feel the faint itch of a too-tight collar against his neck. The pressure in his head started to get stronger, and he pressed it against the glass in an attempt to stop the attack. 

“Please, not again.”

He had to get out of this room before he started to feel sick. He turned quickly; a loud clatter disrupted the stream of memories as his boot connected with something on the ground. It was a golden tray, dented and settled beside pieces of broken stemware. 

Keith hurried to pick it up. Apparently the looters had plenty of other things to steal from the palace. A wave of unexpected anger came over him. 

_“Better hurry, Your Highness. Your mother is waiting.”_

Keith dropped the tray with a crash and scrambled to his feet as he heard the voice. A human stood in front of him in imperial armor, but Keith hadn’t heard him enter the room at all. He swallowed thickly, reaching for his bag and subsequently his knife. But then, he realized the man wasn’t quite a man at all… his features were blurred and unfocused. 

Keith rubbed his eyes and when he looked again, the figure was gone. For a split and irrational second, he wondered if it had been a ghost. When his heart rate settled, he took a deep breath and turned around. He almost collided with a woman near the window. 

He stopped breathing as he looked at her. She was Galra, but not, because she was like him. Her skin was faintly mottled with spots of purple, and although her features were blurry, many of them appeared distinctly human. She wore a formal gown and in one hand she held a weapon that looked strikingly similar to the one in his bag. 

_“Run!”_ She bellowed, and the sound caught Keith off guard. _“Quickly, hide!”_

Whether from fear or on command, Keith turned on his heel and ran as fast as he could from the room. His head was still pounding and the nausea settled in his gut as the room filled with a dizzying array of color and sound. 

He felt disjointed, vaguely aware he was having another attack. But this was unlike anything he had ever dealt with before. Smells and unfamiliar feelings assaulted his sense and he struggled to deal with the duality of the two worlds.

He knew he had to run...but why? Someone or something was there in the darkness. 

_“Follow me, this way!”_ A small voice called out to him again and Keith dreaded turning around to face yet another apparition. In the hallway stood an Altean boy in servants clothing waving to him frantically. His features were fuzzy, like the others, but Keith could just make out his ears beneath fringes of tousled hair. 

Keith swallowed and hesitated. It was one thing to run away from a ghost and another entirely to run towards one. This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. These people had no faces. They vanished into thin air. He was either going crazy, or they were the last traces of life left in this relic of a bygone era, memories like whispers on the wind. 

He pressed his palms against his eyes, the pressure momentarily easing the throbbing in his head. The boy was still there. 

“I’ve lost it.” 

_“Just trust me!”_ The boy persisted. He ran down the hallway, expecting Keith to follow. 

He didn’t at first. But then, maybe because the strangest thrumming of fear was still coursing through him, he did. 

“Wait!” Keith shouted as he rounded the corner, but the kid had disappeared. There was nothing down here but a row of windows and a portrait of a squat man with a monocle. 

All at once, it was too still and quiet in the empty hallway. Once again, Keith realized he was entirely alone. 

“What am I even doing?” He groaned and leaned against the wall. “Chasing ghosts? Or worse, hallucinations.” 

His body, perhaps in response to the visions, echoed the movements of a past memory. The inside of the palace was familiar to him somehow. Only, that didn’t make any sense. It was absurd, even. The thought confused him more than excited him while he struggled to come to terms with the situation. 

A door opened around the corner and Keith tensed, fully expecting more blurred faces and cryptic warnings. And then, he saw Pidge. She was flanked by two Alteans he didn’t recognize and this time their features were clearly visible. 

“How did you get in here?” The shorter Altean gaped at him. He was dressed in fitted trousers and had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows revealing blue markings across his arms similar to the ones beneath his eyes. 

“I just came in through the door.” Keith neglected to mention that he had pulled down several planks in the process. 

The Altean looked like he had seen a ghost. Keith could relate. 

He smoothed his features and took a long, slow step forward. His eyes stared at Keith’s face for a long moment as if trying to solve a difficult puzzle. And then, he slowly lowered his gaze and circled him as a collector would assess a rare artwork.

“What are you—?”

“Trespassing is a serious crime,” the Altean interrupted. 

Irritated, Keith shot back. “Aren’t you trespassing, too?” 

The Altean didn’t answer. 

Keith decided to press his luck. He wondered if this was they guy Pidge had mentioned, and briefly looked over at her for clarification. “Listen, I didn’t mean to break in here. I was following Pidge and I got separated.” 

“Sorry about that.” Pidge didn’t look all that sorry to him, and Keith gave her a look. “Lance, this is Keith. I stole his bag. Keith, Lance. And the big guy’s Hunk.” 

“Keith, huh?” Beneath the brim of his hat, Lance’s eyes lit up. Keith noticed from up close they were a deep shade of blue. 

Keith frowned and clutched his cloak tighter. 

“You stole his bag?” Hunk asked, incredulously. Hunk was the taller of the three, dressed more casually than his companion, his markings a vibrant yellow. Keith wondered, absently, if the markings meant anything.

“I gave it back!” Pidge protested. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Keith muttered dryly. 

“Sorry about her,” Lance waved his hand towards Pidge and ignored her shout of protest. “And sorry for not introducing myself properly. You just took me a bit by surprise. I mean, anyone ever tell you that you look a lot like the missing prince? Thought you were a ghost.” Lance nodded towards a portrait on the wall. 

Keith almost laughed. But Lance didn’t appear to be joking. “No one’s ever said that before.” 

Lance hummed thoughtfully, but said nothing. 

“Listen, I need money. I need to get to Altea, it’s the only lead I have on my past. You’re obviously not supposed to be here,” Keith gestured to the palace hallway and ignored Lance’s indignant retort, “but you seem like the kind of person who knows the city and Pidge said you could help.” 

“She mentioned that. It just so happens that Hunk and I—” Pidge cleared her throat and Lance sighed. “Hunk, _Pidge_ , and I are headed that way. We have these lovely tickets already,” he pulled out a stack of tickets from inside his vest and waved them in front of Keith’s face. “There’s just one little stipulation and that is this last ticket is for the lost prince of the former Galra royal family.” 

“Oh.” Keith felt his heart sink. 

“You said you were looking for a lead on your past?” Lance asked, conversationally. 

“I...can’t remember anything beyond ten years ago, when I was left at the orphanage," Keith hesitated. Was it worth telling his story to these strangers? "I think the answer lies in Altea.” Keith pulled out his pendant as if that would point him in the right direction. 

“You know, Prince Keith also happened to disappear ten years ago,” Lance threw an arm around Keith’s shoulders. “You even share the same name. That’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it?” 

Keith shrugged off Lance’s arm and took some satisfaction in the way he stumbled. 

He looked up at the wall where Lance had been staring earlier. Unlike the other paintings, it had not been stolen. Perhaps it was because the portrait had been damaged, the very corners marked black and peeling. Beneath, he could faintly make out a woman with dark hair exactly like the one in the ballroom. Beside her stood a child, no more than six or seven. 

He supposed he could see a resemblance in their markings, in the color of their eyes and the shape of their ears. But the child was a prince, draped in expensive fabrics and crowned with a gleaming diadem, and Keith was just another orphan boy in a city too vast and busy to care about him. Besides, surely in a city this size there were a lot of others that were like him, half-blood or less. 

“I really wish we could help you out,” Lance drawled. “But this last ticket is for His Highness, Prince Keith.” 

Keith eyed the tickets before they were tucked away. Lance nudged Hunk and the two of them headed back down the hallway, slowly. Pidge stepped up beside Keith and looked up at the portrait. 

“How often do you have the chance to find your family?” Pidge asked quietly, her voice suddenly smaller than the cocky thief he had run into earlier. In the dim light of the hallway, her eyes looked distantly at the painting, as if seeing something else entirely. 

Pidge closed her eyes and sighed before she followed behind Hunk and Lance. Keith looked back at the portrait and the small boy stared back at him, a memory frozen in time. He pressed his fingertips to the painting. Small pieces flaked off and fell gently to the ground. 

He drew his hand back after a minute and sighed. 

“Lance!” Keith whipped his head around and ran to meet them down the hallway. He slowed to a stop and attempted his best nonchalant expression as they turned around to face him. 

“Did you call?” Lance asked, as if he hadn’t heard. Keith wasn’t sure whether his blasé attitude was genuine or a carefully crafted act. 

“Why are you looking for the prince, anyway?” Keith blurted out the first question that came to mind. If he was going to trust these three, he had to at least know what they wanted.

Lance quirked a brow, the gesture somehow overly exaggerated on his face. “There are rumors that Empress Kavara is alive and searching for her son.” 

“Yeah, plus there’s the—” Hunk made a pained noise as Lance elbowed him sharply in the side. They shared a quick look before Lance turned his attention back to Keith. 

“A massive search has begun for the lost boy. After the attack on the palace that night, it would be the news of the century if he survived.” Lance leaned forward, conspiratorially. “You know, if there’s even a chance you might be him, you might recall your lost memories in Altea.” 

Keith hesitated. Lance was definitely hiding something. But the Altean also presented an opportunity to get to Altea, and once Keith was there he could manage the rest on his own. 

He looked from Pidge, to Hunk, to Lance and debated his options. They were depressingly scant.

“I mean, if I’m not royalty then the empress will know and we can call this a simple misunderstanding, right?” 

Lance hummed in agreement and crossed his arms. 

“And I need to get to Altea,” Keith continued. “I’ll do it.” 

Lance outright grinned and held out the ticket. “Then welcome aboard, Your Highness.”


	3. Chapter 3

The train station in Daibazaal was packed with mid-morning travelers. Keith followed behind the group, eyes filled with questions he did not ask. He looked around with such avid curiosity, Lance wondered if he had ever seen a train station before. 

“It’s huge,” Keith said quietly, mostly to himself. 

Lance hummed in assent. “Yeah, taking the train is the fastest way to travel these days. Efficient, but not cheap.” 

Most of the other passengers on the platform were Galra, with the occasional sightseer visiting the city. The station was impressive for sure, with large stained glass windows and intricate carvings topping the massive pillars. Only the wealthy could afford to travel these days, and as Lance looked around all he saw were well-off travelers, lesser nobility, and politicians. 

It made their group stand out like a sore thumb. 

“Tickets, please.” An old attendant leaned over to the window, back hunched as he looked out through the glass. Lance slid their tickets across the counter. 

They were excellent forgeries and he had paid a good deal to have them made. Not as much as purchasing the tickets themselves, but enough to be considered an investment. And if the attendant thought anything strange about their ragtag group, he didn’t say anything. Maybe he was too tired to care, but he simply looked at their passes, stamped them, and handed them back without a word. 

“Okay, train should be arriving in a few minutes,” Lance said, passing out their tickets. He paused as he handed one to Keith. 

“Is that everything you brought?” Lance looked at the lumpy bag Keith held tightly to his side, overstuffed with the ruined cloak. 

“What?” Keith asked. 

“It’s just… we’re in for a long journey. You might want a change of clothes at least.”

“This is all I have,” Keith said. 

Lance hummed thoughtfully. “We’ll have to get you some new clothes in town.”

Keith looked down and brushed off his shirt in a self-conscious gesture. Even with the belt, it was easily two sizes too large on him. A hand-me-down or a cast-off no doubt, and Lance wondered just what kind of life Keith lived in that orphanage. 

“How long is this trip, anyway?” Pidge asked. She dropped her green satchel on the ground and flopped down onto a bench.

“If the train stays on schedule? We should be there in a little over a day.” Lance slipped his own ticket into his vest pocket. Pidge grumbled. “Well, it’s easier than traveling by airship or sea, and definitely faster than _walking_.” 

“Airship?” Keith asked curiously. “Is that dangerous?” 

“Actually,” Pidge perked up, suddenly animated. “Olkarions have invented a way to protect the entire vessel from any outside damage or influence using a combination of advanced engineering and channeled magical energy. It’s fascinating, really.” 

“Oh, I’ve heard of that!” Hunk dropped the large trunk filled with both his and Lance’s belongings on the ground. 

“Hunk! Careful with that.” Lance gestured towards the trunk. 

Hunk didn’t seem to hear him. “They took the concept of particle barriers and integrated—”

Lance sighed and turned his attention towards Keith as Pidge and Hunk excitedly engaged in a back-and-forth of technobabble. 

“Point is, it’s safe.” Lance trailed off as he realized Keith wasn’t even listening, but staring into the crowd at the far end of the station. “Keith?” 

Lance waved a hand in front of Keith’s face after a second of silence. 

Immediately, Keith snapped his head back around. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?” 

“Something wrong?” Lance asked. He looked over at the group but they didn’t look strange or threatening to him. Maybe he saw someone familiar? 

Keith shook his head and then paused. “I just thought I felt someone...nevermind. It’s nothing.” 

Lance raised an eyebrow, but Keith didn’t seem willing to talk about it further. He set his bag down and sat next to Pidge on the bench, although he seemed miles away. 

Lance watched him in silence, struck by the fact he looked so similar to the prince. He had the same inquisitive eyes, the same dark hair and fluffy ears. And yet, gone were the soft smiles and gentle laughter, the courageous selflessness that bordered recklessness. The very same drive and passion that often got the prince into a great deal of trouble with his wary guardians. 

And this Keith? He was defensive and wary, like a cornered animal. He distanced himself behind walls and exuded an almost abrasive personality. The certainty that Keith was the prince Lance knew returning home after ten years had become less of a certainty now and more of a wild dream. The awe was still there, but the idea had been dampened with harsh reality. After all, how could this be the same boy? They might look the same, but Lance was sure that the prince hew knew had vanished behind a false wall that night, and he had never come back.

“Train!” Hunk called out and effectively disturbed Lance’s reverie. 

The train pulled in and the waiting passengers gathered their luggage. They formed a scattered line in front of the doors as other passengers exited the cars. Lance boarded behind the others, and they headed for their compartment. It was tight but cozy, two bench seats facing one another and a rack above for their luggage. Hunk hefted up the oversized trunk with a loud grunt. 

“Lance! What did you pack in here?” He pushed the trunk back as far as it would go, but the very top stuck out just slightly. 

“What?” Lance protested. “Just the essentials. You never know what you might need.” 

“The essentials? It weighs a ton!” Hunk exclaimed. 

“Well I wasn't about to check it,” Lance said. "I'll carry it when we get off the train, how's that?"

Pidge stood up on the bench to push her much smaller bag onto the rack beside the trunk. Keith held his own in his lap, despite the extra room above. 

“I’m going to check out the train. I call window seat when I come back!” Lance tugged his jacket off and tossed it up onto the seat to save it before he slipped out into the corridor. 

He made his way through the train, taking in the luxury that a good forgery could buy. Other than the passenger cars there was a glass-top viewing area, a lounge with plush, red furniture, and a quaint dining car with small lanterns hung above each table. 

As he left the dining car, he nearly collided with a Galra woman. She gave him a sour look. He caught her eye, easily a foot taller than him, and flashed a smile she did not return. 

“Sorry about that,” Lance said smoothly. 

She said nothing. Most of them didn’t… not to his face anyway.

Not all of the Galra treated him differently, but the few that did seemed influenced by the awful propaganda and newspapers printed by followers of the new Galra Empire. It was no secret how relations between Daibazaal and Altea were rocky after Zarkon’s ascension to the throne. A strange thing, Lance thought, as the two had supposedly been very close once. 

The empire had been divided between those loyal to the Empress Regent Kavara and those that were loyal to Emperor Zarkon. Normally, the prince would have taken the throne when he came of age, but as he was not pureblood, some questioned his capability to rule. The Galra rules of succession were complicated and at times outright confusing. It was ridiculous—after all Kavara had not been full-blooded.

The train pulled out with a whistle, and Lance moved past the woman without another word. He opened up the door to their compartment and stepped inside. Hunk was busy writing in his journal, Pidge was asleep with her head against the wall, and Keith sat opposite with his head on his hand, looking out the window. 

“I called window seat!” Lance stared accusingly at Pidge. His jacket had been tossed up onto the luggage rack and Pidge settled comfortably in the corner. He cast her one last envious look and closed the door behind him, debating asking Hunk to move. Reluctantly, he sat down beside Keith.

“In my defense I did tell her.” Hunk didn’t look up from his journal and Lance just huffed in reply. 

It was cold in the compartment, but not unbearable with the little kerosene heater. Lance moved marginally closer to the heater, and consequently closer to Keith.

“What are you writing?” Lance asked Hunk. 

“Just keeping track of our budget, so we don’t blow it like last month.” 

“Hey, that was an honest mistake!” Lance countered. 

“Yeah, but living on canned meat and crackers for a week is definitely an experience I don’t want to repeat.” 

Lance sank back into his seat, unable to debate that. Hunk was always better with the numbers anyway, whereas Lance prided himself on his ability to negotiate and form tactics. People were far easier to deal with than paperwork. After a few minutes listening to Pidge snore quietly and Hunk scribble, the silence started to drive him crazy. 

“So, we should arrive in Altea in about a day. Looks like the weather should stay clear, for now.” The winter season always made him irritable. He preferred the sun and the warmth even after years living in the city. Daibazaal had always been so cold, so much farther north, and even the city itself reflected the chill with industrial buildings and dark steel. 

Hunk didn’t seem to hear him, too absorbed in whatever he was working on, and Keith just hummed. Irritated, Lance threw his head back against the seat and stared at the ceiling. There was nothing there to keep his interest, and he wished he had brought something to do. But he wasn’t much of a reader like Pidge, and anyways he preferred the company of others and casual conversation to pass the time. 

Keith absently rubbed his thumb over a pendant around his neck and Lance watched as he moved it back and forth across the chain. The action seemed mechanical, like a worry stone. 

“Your posture is terrible,” Lance sighed. He reached over and swatted Keith’s hand away from the necklace. “And stop playing with that thing. You’re a prince, aren’t you? Act like one.” 

Keith glared at him. “And how is it you know what princes act like?” 

“I make it my business to know,” Lance replied airily. His time in the palace had been an invaluable learning experience, even if he didn’t know it then. 

Keith frowned. “Hey, Lance? Do you really think I’m royalty?” 

The question caught Lance off guard, but he smiled. He just had to put on a little charm, use the right words. This was the easy part. 

“Of course I do,” Lance replied. 

Keith straightened in his seat and for a minute Lance thought he had taken the advice to heart. 

But the second was short-lived. 

“Then stop bossing me around.” Keith punctuated each word with excessive force to get his point across, each word like a physical blow. He returned to his slouched position, pushing himself closer to the window and away from Lance. 

Lance froze, taken aback. Hunk looked up briefly with a sympathetic smile as he made a long line in his journal, like a tally mark. Irritated, Lance tried again. 

“I just want to help you. You want to speak with the empress once we reach her, don’t you?” 

Keith hesitated and then nodded. 

“You’ll need to be on your best behavior to get close to her. She might be able to help you, she might even be your missing family, but she’s not even going to speak with you if you look like a…” 

“A street urchin?” Keith supplied dryly. “Or a bedraggled orphan?” 

“Not exactly what I was going to say,” Lance countered. But it was certainly what he meant. After all, Keith was a far cry from passing as royalty right now. 

Keith fidgeted with his necklace again. Lance refrained from reprimanding him this time. One thing at a time, he supposed. 

“Don’t worry. I happen to be very familiar with the etiquette required when addressing royalty,” Lance said. “And I can promise you that we’ll get you to see her one way or another. I told you it’s my business to know all about the royal family.” 

Keith stopped fidgeting with his necklace but he still looked uncertain. “But you’re Altean. Why do you know so much about Galra royalty?” 

“Trust me,” Lance said. “I’ve spent my fair share of time working beside them.” 

Keith looked at him curiously, but he didn’t ask any more questions. 

Hunk closed his journal and tossed the notebook onto the bench. “I’m going to grab something for breakfast. Want anything?” 

Lance shook his head. “Nah, just don’t complain when it’s not as good as you expected. And don’t offer the chef any suggestions this time, or we might get kicked off.” 

“Okay, okay.” Hunk threw up his hands defensively. “But all I said was that the presentation was awful. Keith?” 

“Sure,” Keith looked over, marginally curious. 

“Pidge,” Hunk gently nudged the thief. “Want anything from the dining car?” 

Pidge mumbled, her head bobbing slightly as she woke up from her nap. She rubbed her eyes underneath her glasses and stared groggily over at Hunk. 

“Want anything to eat?” Hunk asked again. 

“Not hungry,” she replied. And then after a moment she changed her mind. “Wait. What do they have?” 

Hunk scratched the back of his neck. “Standard train fare?” 

Pidge hummed thoughtfully. “Caffeine,” she said. 

“Okay. I’ll be back.” Hunk waved before he ducked out of the compartment. 

“I’ll come with,” Pidge scrambled out of her seat, adjusting her glasses and heading after Hunk. “Do you think we can sneak into the first class car?” She asked before shutting the door. 

Lance stared at the door for a second after it was closed and realized almost immediately he was alone with Keith. Instantly, the atmosphere seemed more tense. He always prided himself in his people skills, but trying to work with Keith was like trying to talk to a brick wall. 

Lance took a deep breath, and turned towards Keith. “Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” 

“I think we did, too.” Keith straightened in his seat and looked over at Lance. “And I accept your apology.” 

“Thank you—wait, what? I wasn’t apologizing!” Lance threw his hands up in the air. “I mean, if I have to apologize then you should, too. You’re just as much at fault here as I am.” 

Keith glared at him. “Why are you so contrary about everything?” 

“Oh, I’m the one being contrary?” Lance tensed, his patience thinning as his temper flared. “I’ve only ever been gracious. You know, after everything Hunk and I have done for you, you could at least show some respect!”

“Respect?” Keith snapped. “You treat me like I’m some kind of problem child, and I know you’re not telling me the whole truth.” 

“I just want to help you!” Lance sighed, long and drawn out. “Maybe we should just ignore the pleasantries and keep this strictly business.” 

“Fine.” Keith’s ears twitched and he settled back into his seat. 

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a time, and Lance debated leaving the compartment when Keith spoke again, unexpectedly.

“Will you miss it?” He asked quietly. 

Lance answered before he could stop himself. “Miss what?” 

“Daibazaal,” Keith nodded towards the window, a strange look in his eyes. 

The question caught him off guard. Lance crossed his arms and dropped his gaze. “Not really.” 

Apparently, it was Keith’s turn to be surprised. He turned around in his seat and Lance could feel his stare even without looking up.

“Isn’t it home for you?” 

Lance tensed. “It’s just a place I lived in. It’s not home.” Not anymore. It hadn’t been home in a very long time. 

Keith was quiet for a minute. “But if you spent so long there, doesn’t it hold any memories for you?” 

“It was just a place I lived,” Lance repeated, drawing his arms more tightly around his chest. “That’s all.” 

He surprised himself with his honesty. He could have slipped back into his easy persona, the people charmer, the silver-tongued crew leader. 

The words settled between them, heavy and insurmountable, and the conversation trailed off again. The steady click-clack of the train sounded too loud, almost irritating. Why was it so difficult to talk with Keith? 

“Where is your home?” Keith asked, genuinely curious. 

“What is it with you and homes!” Lance felt himself drawn too tight, like a bow string about to snap, memories he didn’t want to deal with starting to resurface. 

Keith opened his mouth to retort, when Hunk threw open the door and startled them both. 

“Okay, _big_ problem. Lance! We’ve got trouble—we have to go, now!” Hunk gripped Lance by the shoulders and leaned forward in a panic. 

“Whoa there, buddy.” Lance raised a hand and placed it on Hunk’s shoulder. “What’s going on?” 

Hunk lowered his voice. “Bounty hunters.” 

Lance glanced furtively at Keith and then back again as his stomach sank. He had made more than enough enemies conning politicians and officials, even the occasional nobleman. But if word had gotten out about the auditions and this job in particular, he might have more than jail time to worry about. 

“Calm down,” Lance said quietly. 

Pidge nudged past them and into the compartment. “Two of them,” she said quickly. 

Lance untangled himself from Hunk and looked down the aisle. At the end of the car, he saw two bounty hunters speaking with someone in another compartment. 

“Is something wrong?” Keith looked over at Lance suspiciously. 

Lance forced a smile. “Nothing at all. We’re just going to move to another part of the train.” 

“Bounty hunters,” Keith said flatly. “Why would bounty hunters be a problem for us?” 

Lance winced. He looked over at Keith, sensing the full weight of his distrust. The connection between them was fragile at best, and Lance knew telling him the truth would shatter it instantly. 

“It’s just they might be after someone dangerous, Your Highness. We should stay out of the way for now.” 

Pidge moved to stand on the seat again and grabbed her bag from the luggage rack. She paused as she passed Lance. “They’re after me,” she said quietly—so quiet Lance almost didn’t hear her. 

“What?” Lance and Hunk said at the same time. 

She shook her head and glanced over to make sure Keith hadn’t heard. “Explanations later, leaving now.” 

Lance shared an equally baffled look with Hunk as Pidge hurried out of the compartment. Sure, Pidge was a great thief, but bounty hunters didn’t go after common criminals. 

“Hunk, grab the luggage if you would.” Lance snatched his coat and followed after Pidge. Hunk sighed and pulled the oversized trunk from the rack. 

Lance could feel Keith’s eyes on him the entire trip to the back of the train. He would have to craft a good cover story and fast. 

“This is the baggage car,” Keith looked around the overstuffed car incredulously. “Why are we in the baggage car?”

“Well, this is the safest place to be on the train,” Lance said quickly. “Once that whole business is cleared up, we can go back.”

“Right. Of course,” Keith muttered. He moved past them and settled on top of a pile of suitcases near the back, clearly irritated. Lance knew he had picked up on the fact something was wrong, and he cursed their luck. 

“Explanations now,” Lance whispered. “Pidge?” He crossed his arms and leaned against a large crate. 

She didn’t immediately answer. 

Hunk let their trunk drop with a loud thud. “You’re not in trouble, are you?” 

“I had to do something,” Pidge said quietly. “I had to. He has _work camps_.” 

Lance let his arms fall to his sides as it dawned on him. “Did you hire someone to look for your brother?” 

“I—” 

“Did you get involved with the rebels?” Lance asked again. 

“It was my family!” Pidge said, too loudly. 

Keith looked over at her with curious eyes. “What’s going on?” 

Pidge moved to the corner and wrapped her arms around her knees, stubbornly silent. 

Lance sighed, trying to piece together a good lie to smooth things over, when the train gave a violent shake. He stumbled forward, nearly colliding with a stack of boxes. 

“Whoa, what was that?” Lance stared at the ceiling as if expecting an answer. 

“Definitely, not something good,” Hunk groaned. 

The train gave another shudder and an awful screeching pierced the air. Lance slapped his hands over his ears until it passed. 

“I’ll go...check it out.” Lance let his hands drop, sounding braver than he felt as he moved to open the door. He balanced carefully on the coupler, astounded by how quickly the train was moving. 

“Did it pick up speed?” Lance frowned. Logically, it should have stopped after something like that. He made his way to the engine room, wondering if they only felt the shudder in the baggage car, but to his surprise he found it empty. 

No one was manning the engine, and yet the room was scorching hot. The fire burned furiously and the meters were dangerously high. Lance cursed loudly, hands flailing over the controls. He tried a lever that looked promising, but no matter how hard he yanked, it wouldn’t budge. 

“C’mon!” He looked frantically around but saw nothing that might help, so he ran back to the baggage car with the bad news. He threw the door open, startling everyone inside. 

“No one’s driving the train. We need to find someone and let them know—” 

Another shudder racked the car, this time followed by the sound of ripping metal. Lance fell forward and onto the floor hard, dazed as he struggled to stand back up. 

“Not good!” Hunk stumbled up and moved to throw the door heading back to the other passenger cars. “There goes the rest of the train!” 

“What?” Pidge pushed her way past a pile of toppled boxes, eyes wide as she stared outside. 

“Plan B!” Lance shouted. 

“What’s Plan B?” Keith growled, hands gripping the side of the car tightly. “Jump?” 

“We can’t jump at this speed.” Pidge pulled back from the door. “The landing would kill us.” 

“Then we need to slow the car down somehow. If we could just disconnect from the engine…” Lance ran a hand through his hair and looked around for anything useful. 

“You’ll have to disconnect the coupler,” Hunk said. 

Lance nodded, distracted. He pulled his pistol out and headed back outside. 

“Lance,” Pidge shook her head. “I don’t think—”

Lance fired three shots, hoping to pierce the metal. It didn’t work. He fired again and again, the ricochet of one whizzing past him. Frustrated, Lance shoved his weapon back into its holster. 

“Uh, Lance? Hate to be the bearer of bad news but…” Hunk pointed outward, and Lance looked up. The train was headed for a curve in the tracks and they were going too fast to safely make it.

“I need something from the luggage.” Lance tried not to think about how quickly they were approaching the curve. He moved to inspect the coupler, wind whipping against his face as he struggled to balance on the twisted strip of metal. The train gave another violent lurch and Lance had to throw his arm out to prevent himself from falling forward and off onto the sharp rocks below.

Hunk started foraging through the boxes. Pidge threw the lid of the trunk open and started digging.

“Keith!” Pidge handed him something over the boxes and Keith reached out to grab it tentatively.

“Is this—“ Disbelief flitted across Keith’s face as he turned to look at Pidge.

“Hunk!” Lance shouted again, urgency straining his voice. “Please, buddy. I can’t keep my balance forever!” 

“Will this work?” It was Keith that appeared and handed him a single stick of dynamite. 

Lance looked up at him. “That’ll work. See, Hunk? I told you… only the necessities.” 

“You packed _explosives_?” Hunk cried out from the back of the car where he was digging through the boxes for something useful. “I was carrying that trunk!” 

“I had it packed carefully,” Lance said. 

“Lance!” Hunk threw his hands up into the air. 

“You can yell at me later, if we survive this.” Lance carefully positioned the explosive in the couplers, as far from their car as possible. “Everyone to the back!” 

“There’s a really good chance that this is going to go horribly wrong,” Pidge said as they gathered in a tight huddle. “We should put some of the luggage between us and the blast as a shield.” 

“Great idea,” Lance pulled his gun out again and aimed it towards the stick of dynamite, several yards away. “Topple the boxes after I fire the shot.” 

“What if you miss?” Keith asked. 

“I won’t.” 

Lance pulled the trigger. Hunk and Pidge threw their weight into the nearest pile of luggage and everything came crashing down as the explosion shook their car. The unmanned engine disconnected and sailed down the tracks, the explosion leaving a gaping hole. 

“We’re still going too fast.” Keith rushed to the front of the car, looking down at the tracks. His body tensed and he snapped his head towards the woods. “There’s someone in the woods,” he said quietly. 

“What?” Lance shoved his gun back into its holster again. It was empty now, and he wasn’t sure he had time to rummage through the luggage to look for more ammo. 

“I felt them watching me before.” Keith pulled back and looked over at Lance, distressed. 

“Save creepy stalkers for later. Right now we need to wait for this thing to coast to a stop. At least we have plenty of track.” 

“Lance!” Hunk shouted. “There’s something out there.” 

Confused and shaking from the adrenaline, Lance hopped over a toppled crate and peered outside. Something dark moved through the sky… something massive. The creature had wings that dwarfed the train, its body twisted and deformed like some strange mythic monster. He felt his body go numb with cold as the beast dived through the air and collided with the bridge up ahead with a violent crash. 

Lance knew immediately what it was. 

“I’ve seen that thing before,” Keith said. “Somewhere, I know I’ve seen it.” 

“A beast conjured by the druids,” Lance said quietly. “That’s what happens when you mess with quintessence.” 

“Massive freaky monster aside,” Pidge interrupted. “Our track has just been drastically reduced.” 

Lance took a deep breath and steeled himself. “We need to slow this car down before we reach that bridge.” He looked around, pushing boxes and luggage aside, picking up a heavy chain underneath one of the crates. “I have an idea.” 

“I hope it's a fast idea,” Hunk said nervously. 

“Me too.” Lance darted out and jumped onto the broken remnants of the coupler. Despite the sway of the train car and the whipping wind that threatened to throw him off, he still managed to maintain his balance. One hand gripped the side of the platform as he hooked one leg around the twisted metal and lowered himself beneath the train with the chain in hand.

Keith raced to the back of the car and leaned over. Lance fumbled with the heavy chain as he twisted it around the underside of the carriage and his other arm strained to support his weight. Beneath his body, the train careened across the tracks so quickly the ties blurred together.

Lance’s leg slipped and his body fell several inches closer to the ground. Keith lashed out in pure instinct to grab him, the unexpected weight sending him forward and closer to the edge. For a split second, the fringe of Lance’s hair brushed against the jagged rocks beneath him.

“I got it!” Lance cried out. His voice wavered and his muscles strained to hold his weight, the adrenaline from his near fall making his movements sluggish. He pulled the heavy chain back with him as Keith struggled to lift him up. 

A horrible straining sound like a piece of wood about to snap pierced the air. Confusion flitted across Lance’s face a moment before Keith yanked him forward. 

The platform he had been using to balance on came loose and shattered into dozens of wooden splinters upon the tracks below. They crashed to the floor inside the train car, a mess of tangled limbs and wide eyes. 

Lance was a hair’s breadth away from Keith, so close he could feel the warmth of his breath against his skin. 

“Thanks. For that. For…” Lance stared down at Keith. 

“Saving your life?” Keith huffed after the adrenaline started to wear off. There was a beat as the both of them realized their position. 

Lance scrambled to stand, body still shaking. He took the other end of the chain in hand and tossed it out onto the tracks. “Brace yourselves!” 

It bounced wildly for a moment on the tracks before it caught, and then the tie ripped from the ground and their car careened violently to the side. 

“We have to get off of this thing!” Keith gripped the side of the car tightly as they barreled towards the bridge. There wasn’t time to wait for it to stop, but it had slowed enough to take their chances. 

“Jump!” 

Lance wasn’t sure who said it, but everyone leapt off of the platform and into the snow. Pain shot through him almost instantly as his body hit the ground and he rolled forward, unable to stop himself. When the world finally stopped spinning, he opened his eyes. 

The awful sound of metal on metal struck him down to his very bones, and was followed almost immediately by a thunderous crash. The subsequent explosion shook the ground beneath him. 

Breathing was painful, the cold air shocking his lungs as he stared up at the sky.

Hunk was the first one to get up, and he silently helped everyone to their feet. Lance gratefully accepted his hand and pulled himself up with a groan. 

“I hate trains,” Lance mumbled, drunk on adrenaline. “Remind me _never_ to take the train again.” 

They stood in silence for a minute, staring over at the bridge as the fire crawled up the chasm and licked the supports. No one seemed to know what to say, and so they waited until the numb disbelief started to fade and the cold became too much, and then they headed for the road.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone, thank you for your comments and kudos! I really appreciate each and every one and it helps me continue editing this beast of a story. There has been a slight delay thanks to the holidays and I apologize for that. As always, you can ask me questions or just say hi on my tumblr: http://mileean.tumblr.com/

They made their way to the road in silence, heads bowed and arms tight across their chests to defend themselves against the cold. In the chaos on the train, almost everything had been left behind. Keith managed to grab his bag before they jumped, but the contents scattered as he fell and the only thing he retrieved from the snow was his blade. 

Left with little but the clothes on their backs, the mood was heavy. They continued to walk along the road until their feet began to ache and their ears and noses started to turn red. Keith wished he still had his cloak, tattered as it was, to offer some protection against the wind. 

Lance was the first to break the silence, but even he lacked his usual energy. 

“There is no way we’re going to make this journey on foot. We’d be walking for three days.” 

There was a beat of silence as the realization set in. Keith couldn’t even remember the last time he ate, bitterly wishing that they had managed to grab something from the train. 

“We should find a town,” Pidge suggested. Her nose and cheeks had turned ruddy red under the assault of the relentless wind. It was so much colder here than back in the capital. 

“We’re still a few hours from the nearest town, but we could make it before dark.” Lance struggled valiantly to warm himself by rubbing his arms up and down with his hands. Keith noticed the tips of his ears had turned red underneath his hat. 

“Uh, hate to kill the mood here, but all of our luggage went down with the train—along with the money. The only thing we have left are our travel papers.” Hunk pulled his out and stared at it dolefully.

“Oh,” Lance said quietly. “Right.” 

“I could find us some money,” Pidge chipped in.

“No, the last thing we need is trouble with the authorities.” Lance took a deep breath. “Besides, that thing back there? That had to be one of Zarkon’s monsters. Right now, we don’t stand a chance against it. He wanted something with that train, or someone on it. We stay below the radar, we avoid the authorities, the bounty hunters, and whole Galra Empire if we have to, got it?” 

Pidge huffed. “Alright. Fine.” 

“So, you got a plan?” Hunk asked Lance hopefully. 

“Not yet.” Lance muttered. 

“We’ll think of a plan when we get there,” Keith interjected. “Standing around isn’t going to solve anything.” 

At least everyone seemed to agree with that, and they started walking again. 

The road here was blanketed in thick snow, the forest growing denser the longer they stayed on the path. Ancient, massive trees encroached upon on either side of the road like the maw of a great monster waiting to swallow them whole. Keith noticed that the entire time they had been walking, he hadn’t seen any other travelers. Somehow he felt that if he wandered off the path, he would be lost in another world entirely.

Still, the prospect of a warm fire and real food in the next town seemed to keep everyone in high enough spirits to keep moving, despite being worn down by the harsh reality of being completely broke. 

After a time, Keith started to lose feeling in his fingers. He flexed them, unable to keep his mind off of the cold any longer. So he asked the first question that had been bothering him. 

“When we reach Altea,” Keith started quietly, “how am I supposed to approach the empress?” 

Lance looked over at him and opened his mouth, but it was Hunk that answered first. 

“Well, you can’t just waltz up to her. For one thing, she’s heavily guarded and hardly anyone sees or speaks to her. You’ll have to put in a request for an audience, then she’ll make sure you’re not out to kill her or something by having you interrogated by her royal aid, and then—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Lance took a step in front of Hunk and waved his hands in an almost frantic manner to stop him.

“Wait, nobody told me I’d have to _prove_ I’m a prince.” Keith stopped and wheeled on Lance, all thoughts of the cold temporarily forgotten. “I thought I was just going to ask her some questions about my memories or something. I'm not going to lie to anyone else to see her!” 

“It’s not a lie,” Lance said quickly. “I mean, not technically. You said yourself it might be possible, right? You just have to speak with her aid for a little while, answer a few questions. Trust me, you’ll pass with flying colors.” 

“I’m not taking a test!” Keith growled. “This isn’t some kind of game, Lance. I don’t even remember my past, how am I supposed to answer any questions?” 

Pidge exchanged a nervous look with Hunk. Lance waved his hand dismissively as if brushing the problem away for later.

“Listen, Keith. The royal prince disappeared ten years ago, didn’t he? That’s the time you came to the orphanage. You don’t remember your past, why is it so far-fetched to think you could be royalty? Sometimes you have to break a few rules, work around the system instead of through it.” 

Lance was using the voice again, the one he used to schmooze and flatter—the one that came with smiles designed to charm. Keith had a sinking suspicion this was the persona Lance slipped into when he was lying, and it put him on edge. 

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Keith said, low and dangerous. His ears pinned back and he glared at Lance. 

“Just trust me, Your Highness.” Lance attempted to sling an arm around Keith’s shoulders and Keith pushed him away.

“Just trust me, that’s all you ever say.” Keith moved past all of them and headed off the main road towards a covered bridge, the closest secluded spot he could find. He crossed his arms and leaned against the railing, looking down at his reflection in the frozen water. All he could see were the mismatched features, part Galra part human, in a perpetual war with one another. He would never really fit in with either side. 

How could anyone—even himself—believe he was royalty? As far back as he could remember he was just Keith, the orphan boy with no past and no family. That was what most people saw when they looked at him. An unfortunate kid with the same name as a privileged prince, a well-bred royal with a family and a home and people that fought by his side. Friends, allies, family. 

He didn’t have any of that. 

Keith buried his face in his arms and wished the cold would numb his mind like it had his fingers. “What am I even doing here?” 

Here he was running after an illusion, a wishful desire. It was too far-fetched to be reality. If he had any sense, he should just turn around and find the nearest city, find a job, and start a new life. 

Keith sighed and lifted his head after a minute, his necklace pulling taut as it snagged on the railing. He quickly freed it and looked down at the inscription once more. It was starting to get worn down, he realized. 

“What's in Altea for me?” He rubbed his thumb over the pendant in silent thought. What would he do if he didn’t like the answers he found, or worse… what if he never found any answers at all? 

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, he didn’t even hear Hunk step up to the railing beside him. 

Hunk looked down at the ice, at their darkened reflections. “You know, you can still turn back. But this might be your only chance to find out who you are and that’s what you want more than anything, right?” 

Keith let go of the pendant and looked over at Hunk quizzically. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, you’re always talking about your past and your family. That’s sort of your thing. I thought you’d want to fight for answers. Metaphorically, of course, even though you might actually fight something. Point is, I’ve known you for like a day and you don’t seem the type to just give up.” 

“I don’t want to give up,” Keith faltered. “But I’m just a _nobody_. There’s no way I could really be some kind of prince.” 

Hunk hummed, turning his attention from the reflections in the water back to Keith. “You’re a lot more like royalty than you might think. I’ve spent a lot of time around Galra nobility—used to work in the palace kitchens.” 

“You did?” This was the first time Hunk had said anything personal about himself. “Why there instead of in Altea?” 

“The Galra Empire was at an industrial peak,” Hunk shrugged. “A lot of Alteans came over for the limitless opportunities. That’s how Lance and I wound up here. Some families came to offer services that are uniquely Altean, I think that’s when the whole glamour thing took off.” 

Keith leaned against the railing. “What’s a glamour?” 

“Uh, well you know some Alteans can change their appearance to a certain degree, right? Some mixed alchemical sciences and magic to create charms that could change your appearance. They’re temporary, but the market really took off here.” 

Keith’s eyes widened. “So you could change your features to look more Galra or something? And anyone can use them?” 

“Sure. Why?” 

Keith looked down at the ground and debated telling Hunk the truth. With a glamour he might look normal for once. “No reason.” 

It was silent for a moment, aside from the gentle sound of water running underneath the bridge. 

“Anyone can use one, but using a glamor doesn’t change who you are.” Hunk looked at him like he had read his thoughts. “Maybe you still need to find out who you are by finding your family or bringing back your memories, but you don’t need a glamour to do it. Listen, I know the royal aid. Shay is a good person and if you can convince her, you’ll be halfway to finding your answers."

“...You’re right,” Keith said quietly. He pushed away from the railing. “Let’s do it.” 

“Great! So, we’re going to town then? Done brooding?” 

“I don’t _brood_!” Keith bristled. "I was just..." He sighed and Hunk held his hands up apologetically. Keith made his way back to the road where Lance and Pidge still stood huddled together. They both looked up when he stopped in front of them.

“I guess, if you're willing to teach me, I want to know what a prince would know. Everything, ten year's worth of information.” Keith looked up sheepishly, apology in his eyes. 

Lance beamed. “Perfect! We’ll start with your posture because appearances are half the battle. Stand straight, shoulders back, chin up…” 

Keith attempted to follow the instructions as Lance positioned him, face contorted in concentration. “This feels weird.” 

Lance ignored him. “When you sit, don’t slouch. When you address the empress, you bow. You call her Your Imperial Majesty, or simply Your Majesty, even though she’s not technically a current ruler—there really hasn’t been a case like this in Galra history, but formalities are formalities. Speak when spoken to, and be polite.” 

Keith was already starting to feel overwhelmed. He tried not to show it. At least they had several hours before they made it to town, and hopefully it would keep his mind off of the cold. 

* * *

By the time they reached town, Keith’s head hurt as much as his feet. Nothing had triggered another memory, but some of the answers came to him quicker than he expected. Although, if he ever had to memorize another list of dukes, barons, or earls he was going to take his blade and stab something. 

Calling the town small would be modest. It only had a few rows of uniform houses, a quaint market, and two or three multi-purpose stores. Grooves were worn in the dirt road from passing carriages, and the whole place had a pungent aroma unique to farm towns. Still, at least there was an inn. The place only had three rooms, two which had been booked by traveling merchants, so they all squeezed into one room. Cozy was an understatement. 

Keith couldn’t figure out how Lance had managed to snag them a room at all, but his whole body ached and he was too tired to care. He collapsed onto the nearest bed, disregarding every rule he had just learned about etiquette. 

He must have fallen asleep because the sound of the door opening woke him up. Lance stepped inside wearing a robe he definitely hadn’t had before, hair still slightly damp as he toweled it off.

“Where did you get that?” Keith asked as he turned over on the bed. 

“The bath down the hall.” Lance tossed the towel over the chair as he stepped inside the room. 

“Did you just take it?” 

“No! They happen to be for the guests.” Lance cleared his throat. “Speaking of baths, you should take one.” 

Keith bristled, mildly offended. Although, he supposed after an entire day on the road he probably needed one, and he was still combating a persistent chill.

“Are you going to tell me how you rented us a room without any money?” Keith asked.

“Wasn’t too hard,” Lance said. “I have a lot of favors owed from past clients. While there aren’t any in this town in particular, I just dropped a few names. Besides, I have a few things on hand I can still sell for a bit. Thankfully, I kept them on me and not in the luggage.” 

Keith vaguely remembered seeing Lance tie a small leather bag to his belt beside his holster, but at the time he hadn’t thought much of it.

“What do you mean clients—what do you do, anyway?” 

“I help people,” Lance said simply. 

Keith waited for him to say more. When Lance didn’t, he frowned. He tried asking about something else. “Where did Hunk and Pidge go, anyway?” 

“Hunk said he was going to help one of the merchants in town to pull together some spare cash, and Pidge said she went to take a walk.” Lance picked up his clothes and looked at them with dismay, noticing the mud caked on the hem of his pants. 

“Oh.” Keith ran his fingers through his hair. He found it hard to talk to Lance, they always ended up butting heads somehow. Keith was sure it was because Lance was hiding something. If he could just be honest maybe the air wouldn’t be so thick. 

Lance set his clothes aside and untied the small bag from his belt. Curiously, Keith watched him as he opened it up and pulled out an intricate, metal box dotted with glittering jewels and tiny, gold lines. 

“It’s beautiful,” Keith craned his neck to look closer at the box. “Why didn't you sell that? It looks expensive.” 

Lance tensed and closed his hand around the box. “It’s not for sale.” 

The edge to his voice surprise Keith. He leaned forward, drawn to the box. Lance seemed to notice him looking. 

“It’s just… I’ve had this trinket box forever. Sure, I could make plenty by selling it. But it wouldn’t be right and I can't bring myself to do it.” Lance hesitated, and then held out his hand with the box. 

Surprised, Keith reached out and gingerly picked it up. He turned it over, surprised with how heavy it was. The detail work was incredible, each small line creating a tiny labyrinth of gold patterns. If this was special to Lance somehow, Keith could understand. He would never sell his blade or his pendant either. 

“Are you sure it’s a trinket box?” Keith asked. It seemed like it should open, but he couldn't figure out how. 

Lance looked at him curiously. “What else would it be?” 

“I don’t know. Something...” Keith trailed off. He felt a strange warmth in his chest, a sense of familiarity washing over him. He blinked as if clearing a daze and reluctantly handed it back. 

Lance reached out to take it, their fingers brushed just for a moment and Keith retracted his hand quickly, the slightest trace of mottled markings visible beneath the gloves. Lance placed the box back as if he hadn’t noticed and Keith stood up. 

“I think I’m going to take a bath, after all.” Keith hurriedly left the room and headed down the hall.

He took his time in the bath, not because it felt amazing (although it did), but because being around people all the time was exhausting in a way he found hard to explain. 

He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling, thinking about music boxes, monsters, and the visions from the palace. Maybe this wasn’t a journey he could take on his own, after all… everything seemed like it was spiraling out of his control. He only hoped that if there was such a thing as paths and destiny, that this was the right one.

“I’m thinking too much,” he groaned and splashed water on his face, reluctant to leave the water even though it turned tepid and he was starting to feel waterlogged. He dried himself off and redressed, wondering if he should have washed his clothes in the sink or something. 

When he returned to the room and fell asleep that night, he slept restlessly. His mind was too full of ghosts and music and unfamiliar faces. He saw the woman again, the one like him. This time, she was in armor. She squared off against a Galra with unusually bright eyes, much taller than her with his mouth carved into a deep frown. Beside him were several cloaked figures, most wearing masks. 

The one closest to him did not wear a mask, and while Keith initially thought she was Galra as well, she bore undeniable Altean marks on her face. When she turned to look at him Keith froze, unable to look away. 

In a moment, he was no longer in a ballroom but in the middle of a dark hallway, searching for a light. Blurred portraits hung on the walls, canvases ripped and blackened. He repeated the names he had spent all afternoon memorizing, but he kept fumbling over the pronunciations and titles.

He stepped into a bright room filled with dancing couples, the light hurting his eyes. The tempo of the music was too fast, and the people were spinning in dizzying circles. He started to feel nauseous in the same way he did when a memory came back to him. Someone pulled him aside and away from the dancers. Keith looked up, surprised to see the man from the palace—or the illusion anyway. 

“You haven’t been practicing,” he admonished him, a look of mild disapproval on his face. Keith could make out his features now, the scar across his face and the white shock of hair. A human wearing Galran imperial armor. 

“It’s just dancing, Shiro.” Keith wasn’t sure why the name came to him, but he knew it was right somehow. 

Shiro almost smiled. “Your mother will be after me if you don’t practice. She might even put an end to your training.” 

Keith looked down at the floor, irritated and ashamed. When he looked up again to apologize, Shiro was gone along with the rest of the party goers. The room was dark and his eyes refused to adjust. Somewhere in the ballroom he could just barely make out a shifting shadow as it drew itself upward. It was easily ten feet tall hunched over, and when its wings unfurled they easily dwarfed him. It was the same creature as before, on the train.

Keith stumbled backwards, his hand instinctively going for his blade but it wasn’t there. The monster lunged towards him, loping like some great predator. Keith turned sharply and bolted from the ballroom but as soon as he threw the doors open he found himself not in a hallway, but in a narrow train corridor. 

He ran through the train, every compartment completely empty as it raced along the tracks, scenery blurring past the windows. It was going too fast. He slammed the door open to their compartment but like all of the others he found it empty. He could hear the beast behind him, claws scraping against the floor as it ripped apart the train in its haste to reach him. 

Something grabbed him and pinned his back against the compartment door. He lashed out to knock them away in a desperate attempt to protect himself. If he had his blade he could fight. He could still—

“Keith!” Something called his name. The beast? “Keith! Wake up.” 

The dream shattered in an instant as his eyes opened, and it took him several agonizing seconds to realize nothing had been real. He swallowed hard, awkwardly positioned on the bed, sheets tangled around his legs and blanket trailing on the floor. He bolted upright, hand moving to brace himself against the top bunk. It was dark, but he could see Lance crouched beside his bed, one hand reached out as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. 

“Are you okay?” Lance asked quietly, uncertainty. His hair was unusually mussed as if he had just woken up, still dressed in the robe. 

“I...I was having a…” Keith trailed off. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have nightmares before, he used to have them frequently when he was a kid, but he hadn’t had one in a while. When he had nightmares, they were always the same ones.

“It’s okay.” Lance let his hand fall onto the bed. “You’re here, it wasn’t real.” 

Keith tried to calm his breathing, to tell his body what his mind already realized. Everything he had seen was a fiction, just a nightmare. He looked sheepishly over at Lance. 

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” 

Lance shrugged. “I was already awake.” 

Keith knew that was a lie, he could tell from the way he looked, and yet it made him feel better to hear it. He started to untangle himself from the sheets and place the pillow and blankets back onto the bed. At least it sounded like both Hunk and Pidge were still asleep. 

“Keith,” Lance looked over at him. “Want to take a walk, get it out of your head?” 

“I’m fine,” Keith said. And after a moment he added, “Thanks.”

After a moment of hesitation, Lance returned to his own bed and Keith flopped back down. The details were already fading, but his body felt leaden as he lay in the bed and stared at the bottom of the top bunk where he could hear Hunk snoring. 

There used to be a song he would listen to on nights like these, a melody without words. He couldn’t recall it now, but he remembered the faint feeling of calm and struggled to remember the tune. 

After some time, Keith abandoned the idea of sleep and quietly slipped out of bed. He looked over at Lance’s bed, fairly sure he had gone back to sleep. He didn’t want to drag anyone into his problems, especially if it meant pulling them out of bed for something as inane as a nightmare. Normal people should be asleep in the middle of the night. 

So he grabbed his blade and headed outside. It was probably a stupid idea to train when it was freezing outside and he didn’t have a coat, but he found some form of comfort in the idea. If nothing else, the nightmare had reminded him he used to be able to fight, and maybe he wouldn’t feel so powerless next time he saw that creature if he could at least defend himself. 

The movements felt strange at first, the blade too short in his hands, but when he let his mind go blank it came easier to him—movements and stances his body remembered even if his mind didn’t. 

He cut through the air, someone’s voice in the back of his head giving him instructions and advice. Someone, he thought, that sounded like Shiro. Who was he anyway? Maybe, just maybe, he had answers. He tried to remember how Shiro had been dressed in his dream—his memory—but he couldn’t remember. He could just faintly recall his features.

He trained until his fingers started to go numb, along with the tips of his ears, and then he headed back inside as the sun rose over the horizon.


End file.
